


Dawning on Me

by RainbowObsidian



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andrew needs to meditate, Barista! Andrew Minyard, Canon typical character histories, M/M, Mention of scars, POV Andrew Minyard, POV Neil Josten, The foxes are all grown up, Yoga Teacher! Neil Josten, soft andreil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowObsidian/pseuds/RainbowObsidian
Summary: He’d been an overcast, human-shaped machine for much of his 30-odd years, watching Life happen to others, experiencing the idea of feelings more than the actual weight of them. A photocopy paling in comparison to the real thing. Even the less sunshiney emotions were an outfit he tried on from time to time; more like clothing, less like skin. Scratchy, weighted, and mildly uncomfortable if he took the time to really pay attention.--Despite being a life long runner, Neil suddenly has an apartment, a kitten, a sofa, some house plants and a regular Sunday morning teaching gig at his favourite yoga studio.Andrew needs to calm tf down and if talking to potted plants doesn’t help, maybe a certain blue-eyed yoga teacher will.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 47
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ermagawd I did a thing! Thanks be to @vertigo for your enthsiasm and @djhedy for your early encouragement. 
> 
> @justadreamfox you are a brilliant betafish and a freaking marvellous friend. Thanks for the original [Yoga Teacher Neil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442378) in my life. Now that I have you I can't imagine a world without you in it. 
> 
> This one's for you Ellie and Jess, my IRL Foxy Raven Girls. Thanks for lighting my fire!
> 
> Ok, Oscars acceptance speech is over. Here, have some yoga teacher Neil.

Neil couldn’t help grinning to himself as he tidied the now-empty yoga studio and wiped the surfaces before locking up. _This_ is what he was meant to be doing. _This_ made his heart soar; a feeling he’d never even bothered to imagine, a lightness he’d witnessed on rare occasions in even rarer individuals, but never once believed could be his to feel.

That he’d even noticed it was a miracle: that spark, that vitality, that sense of peace and contentment and _rightness in the here and now_ that some people possessed. He’d been an overcast, human-shaped machine for much of his 30-odd years, watching Life happen to others, experiencing the idea of feelings more than the actual weight of them. A photocopy paling in comparison to the real thing. Even the less sunshiney emotions were an outfit he tried on from time to time; more like clothing, less like skin. Scratchy, weighted, and mildly uncomfortable if he took the time to really pay attention.

But Neil hadn’t had the privilege of being able to pay attention to fickle things like _feelings_ when he was younger. He’d been too busy surviving. Too busy trying to keep his head above water and out of trouble. Too busy escaping his past and avoiding his future. After his mother was killed, burned and buried and his father taken down, Neil took the FBI up on their offer of witness protection. He’d exchanged everything he knew about his father’s ring, his people, his fronts, and in return, he’d had the privilege of seeing Nathan shot dead before his eyes, and a permanent new identity to call his own.

Old habits die hard though, and paranoia was infused in his bones through both nature and nurture. Even with a new name and a chance to finally put down some roots he hadn’t been able to stop moving, hadn't stopped looking over his shoulder, hadn’t been able to stop that itch in his feet and that weight on his soul that said _go, go, go._ And so he did, for ten years; traipsing all over the country, never building relationships, never staying put for more than a few weeks at a time.

Which was how he’d ended up randomly camping out at a five day yoga meditation mindfulness festival in Joshua Tree.

Which was how he’d ended up practicing yoga on the semi-regular if he stumbled across a class in whichever backpackers hostel he ended up in.

Which was how he’d ended up enrolling in yoga teacher training on the fly, one random weekend in South Carolina after a particularly enlightening class.

Which was how, one year later, he was here; with his own apartment, a kitten, a sofa, some house plants, and a regular Sunday morning teaching gig at his favourite studio.

It almost knocked the breath out of him when he realized that for the first time in his life he felt like he had a purpose. Well, sometimes. It wasn’t all rainbows and fucking butterflies. His apartment was small and sparse and he had an invisible neighbour that was way too fond of Billy Ray Cyrus. His cat, Enid, was a stubborn, independent pain in his ass that was more likely to ignore him than curl up next to him while he watched tv. His sofa was a hand-me-down from the previous tenant. And the houseplants? He was hardly a green thumb; most of his plants were in desperate need of _something_ \- fucked if he knew what it was though - but they were alive at least, and on that level Neil could kinda relate.

Yoga though? Yoga felt... right, somehow, and left him feeling vital, content. It was a series of moments where he didn’t question who he was or what he was doing, moments where the sun shone through his overcast filter and he felt like maybe he was actually enough.

Which was why it had been such a blow when the global pandemic closed the studio for several months. He’d taught a half dozen classes before quarantine shut the city down, and any confidence that he’d built had evaporated in the months that had passed through lockdown. His apathy wasn’t compatible with self-motivation and any joy that teaching had brought him faded as he spent week after week self isolating in his apartment. Other teachers at the studio were taking their classes online, but there was something deeply discomforting for Neil in the idea of filming himself teaching. 

His scars had faded over time, but were still extremely noticeable and he felt like people judged him less in person, where his somewhat prickly personality was infused with endearing professional enthusiasm. Besides, when people were in the room with him they were paying attention to their own practice. But online classes? He’d just be a face and body on screen, drawing that point of focus directly on him. So no, he hadn’t taught during quarantine and he’d barely practiced either. His mood had turned perniciously more grey as the months passed and even though he knew yoga was the one thing that pushed those clouds aside -even if only for a moment - he just couldn’t bring himself to get on the mat.

Then, as suddenly as the world had shut down, it started to open up again. Non-essential services began unlatching their doors. Kids were returning to schools, cafes were infusing street corners with the sweet smell of coffee and baked goods, and finally - _finally_ \- yoga studios had reopened. Teaching today’s class - his first in months - had been a timely reminder of what he’d been gently poking at before lockdown and damn if he didn’t enjoy the warmth. 

Neil was still buzzing as he wandered down to Eden's for his daily caffeine hit, grateful that they had also reopened this last week. The trendy coffee shop was decked out in timber, industrial iron and an abundance of plants, and was a popular venue for both the wellness and hipster crowds. He lined up behind a bunch of girls who’d been in his class and when they noticed him, one of them turned and started gushing about how his class always gave her the best post yoga buzz and how much she’d missed them and the online classes were good but… Neil tuned out as she droned on. He liked teaching but he didn’t particularly like, well, people really (and he especially hated small talk) and he’d just noticed that the guy who used to make his coffee wasn’t there. Maybe he’d been laid off during the lockdown? He’d always had a cigarette behind one ear and a paperback tucked into his pocket like some kind of rebellious moody emo bookworm; maybe he’d defected to one of the local bookstores. 

Behind the counter instead was the flamboyant one who always got distracted chatting to and chatting up the customers and had a one hundred percent success rate when it came to burning his drink. Neil almost turned to leave when he felt someone touch his arm. He startled as he realised Yoga Girl was still talking to him, and judging by the questioning look on her face, she was expecting an answer. 

“Um, sorry, what?” he asked bluntly, taking a step backwards to not so subtly remove her hand from his bicep.

“Oh,” she laughed awkwardly, “I was just wondering if you were picking up any more classes now that the studio’s reopened.”

“Just Sundays at this stage. Have a good weekend.” He gave a tight smile and stepped up to the counter to order, adding a rare side of cream to his usual black coffee in an attempt to combat the inevitable bitterness.

Neil took a seat in a low armchair by a window that looked out onto the leafy courtyard at the back of the shop. Whoever owned it must have frequented the venue during quarantine because everything looked as green and lush as always. As the winter sun streamed through the glass he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, exhaling as he rolled his head side to side and welcomed the rays that warmed his skin. He had one north facing window in his apartment and it was above his toilet; quality sunshine had been pretty hard to come by over the last few months. His contented sigh morphed into a huffed laugh as he realised he was behaving just like his stupid cat. As he reflected upon his own stubborn independence and lack of desire for human contact, he thought maybe he had as much in common with Enid as he did his vegetative housemates. If only humans were so easy.

“Oh you’ve got that yoga glow,” a cheery voice said, stirring Neil from his feline reverie. “Here’s your coffee, cutie.”

Neil squinted one eye open and mumbled a quiet “Thanks” as the barista winked and walked away. Once he was back behind the counter and out of sight, Neil took a sip of his coffee and couldn’t help the grimace that crossed his face as he took in the acrid liquid. There was a scoff a couple tables over and Neil schooled his face into something more neutral before he looked up and saw a short blond man get out of his chair and amble over to the coffee machine. Oh. If he’d known his barista was not only still around, but was only ten minutes from starting work he would have waited before ordering. Nevermind, he’d know for next time. Neil pushed his coffee aside and pulled his notebook out of his duffel. If he wasn’t going to caffeinate, he might as well make use of the sunny table for a while and start prepping for his next class before heading back to his cold apartment.

He plugged in his earbuds and played his latest favourite album. He had passed half an hour plotting out potential flows and was packed up ready to go when a floral tattooed arm unceremoniously plonked a fresh black coffee on the table in front of him. Neil startled and looked up, following the intricate and surprisingly colorful flowers up to see his barista standing in front of him. He smiled brightly and opened his mouth to speak but before he could figure out what to say, the other man muttered “Nicky always burns the coffee when he’s distracted,” before turning and walking just as suddenly away.

He’d never heard the blond speak before; the other one - Nicky - chatted enough for them both he supposed, and his voice was low and strong, much like the guy himself. Neil watched him as he walked away. Neil was also pretty short - he had maybe a few inches on this guy? - but for all Neil’s slim, sinewy muscularity, the barista was built solid, like he could hold up the world on his shoulders if he wanted to. The barista wore black from head to toe, though he was without the armbands he’d been wearing every other time Neil had seen him, which must be why he’d never seen the tattoos before. He was pink behind the neck and up to his ears - sunburnt, maybe? It was a weird time of year for that, so maybe it was just hot behind the counter now that the cafe was starting to fill with the trendy lunch crowd, and the orders were pouring in. Neil listened to his music and savoured his (perfect) long black for as long as he could until the tables around him filled and the air turned oppressive. He made his way to the counter to pay for his second cup but when he held out his card, Nicky shook his head. 

“That one’s on Andrew,” he said, waving Neil away distractedly with one hand while he burnt milk with the other.

“Andrew?” Neil asked, looking around. 

“Andrew,” Nicky confirmed, holding his hand at chest height. “Yay high, fair, personality of a scary dishcloth? - Ow!”

Neil’s eyes widened at the random outburst then looked around but there was no sign of the blond. “Tell him I said thanks,” he said and he turned to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe you need to fucking meditate or something,” Kevin said out of nowhere.
> 
> “Fuck off,” Andrew grumbled, “I’m a ray of sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 = Andrew's POV!!

“Maybe you need to fucking meditate or something,” Kevin said out of nowhere, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand while he poured coffee with the other. 

Andrew was irked by the abrupt distraction from the auburn haired, blue eyed pipe dream he’d been mulling over and didn’t bother to hide his displeasure when he growled “Remind me why you’re awake at six thirty on a Saturday morning again?” 

He took the pot from his housemate before he could pour the entirety of it into the blender with - _was that butter and oil?_ “And the fuck are you pouring coffee in _there_ for?” he asked as he filled his mug and started spooning sugar in, scowl firmly planted on his face. 

“It’s a bulletproof coffee,” Kevin shouted over the sound of the blender. “It boosts brain function, provides a prolonged energy lift and can reduce the risk of heart disease and cancer. Plus,” he said, reaching over to steal the sugar before Andrew could go for a fourth spoonful, “it lowers your blood sugar levels and improves your mood. Two things you would benefit greatly from.”

“Fuck off,” Andrew grumbled, pouring creamer into his not-quite-sweet-enough drink. “I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

They danced around the small kitchen the way two people who’ve lived together a while do, navigating the space with ease as they prepared their respective breakfasts - scrambled eggs and spinach on sourdough for Kevin and a peanut butter and honey sandwich for Andrew. 

Andrew sat up on the island bench to eat and Kevin pulled up a stool beside him. They ate in silence for a while and then Kevin pointed an index finger at Andrew in between bites of his egg. 

“Honestly Andrew, _meditation_.”

“Honestly Kevin,” Andrew mocked, licking honey off his pinkie and knocking back his drink, “why _are_ you awake? _How_ are you awake?”

“Are you kidding me?” Kevin asked incredulously, “I thought we were being robbed this morning.”

Andrew rolled his eyes at Kevin’s dramatics and headed for the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth he stared at the dark circles under his eyes and thought back to that morning. He’d flinched and then held his breath as he woke to the sight of an unfamiliar arm spread out in front of him. It wasn’t until his years-old reflexes kicked in and he reached for the knives he no longer kept by his bed, knocking his lamp and a towering pile of books off the bedside table and sending it all careening onto the floor, that he realised the arm belonged to him. _What the fuck?_ Of course it was _his_ fucking arm. 

He needed to stop drinking so much every night; it took way too long for his brain and body to reconnect in the mornings and he’d be lying to himself if he said it was the first time he’d felt such a severe disconnect upon waking. The intricate and ridiculously colorful floral tattoos that adorned both arms were fresh - he’d given Renee complete creative control and she’d finished them the week before - and after 15 years of wearing black armbands the tatts were so unrecognisable to him that they were deeply discombobulating at times. 

He needed something to shut his brain off in the evenings though, and several fingers of whiskey usually did the trick. It was no surprise his drinking had escalated through quarantine; time, boredom, cabin fever and financial concerns were all valid reasons for increased consumption. Add the simple fact that he really liked reading and drinking, or writing and drinking, or sketching and drinking… he really fucking liked drinking, period. And sitting in his enormous leather high-backed chair, wrapped in blankets, warmed by the caress of heat from his fireplace, well, was it any surprise he was burning through a bottle every few days? 

Fuck, maybe he did need to do something. Andrew had stopped seeing his psychologist when she retired several years ago and anyway, he’d come so far in that regard. But still: he was pretty sure what happened that morning (and on previous mornings) wasn’t normal. Meditation though? He’d rather talk to the plants like Renee. Urgh. It pained him to think maybe he just needed a break from the drink and an early night. Or seven. 

Andrew grabbed his keys and nabbed the last piece of Kevin’s sourdough from his plate as he walked out the door, flipping Kevin the bird like a petulant teenager as he went. It was a short drive to the shop and he probably could have walked, but honestly, cold weather and exercise were two of his least favourite things. The Maserati, on the other hand, was up there amongst his favourite possessions, along with his notebook and the string of hearts plant Renee had given him for his last birthday. 

He’d bought the car new fifteen years ago when he was young and dumb and had money to burn and for a while it was the only thing in his life that he looked after (he certainly wasn’t looking after himself). He was fresh out of foster homes and full of bone-deep anger and self destructive fear when he’d found out one of his last foster families had all died in a house fire, leaving him a substantial sum of money in the process. At the time he’d resented the cash and wished only that he’d been the one to have had the pleasure of lighting the spark. Later he’d wondered if Cass’s emails that he had deleted without opening every time (there had been twenty one times) had been the final nail in her guilty coffin; there was no other reason for him to have been a beneficiary of her will. 

Regardless, he’d spent the money the fastest way he knew how and the matte-black beast had been a reliable companion ever since. Ten years ago he named her Betsy, after the first shrink who’d ever made a difference in his life, who’d stood by him and put up with him when he reacted first, thought later. The first shrink who had been content to sit and let him be, without expectation and without judgement. The first shrink who’d let him take control and steer his sessions whichever way he chose. The first _person_ really, and he still felt a kind of warm affection towards her even after all these years. 

He had his family now of course, and with Aaron and Nicky came a sense of purpose, something to live and fight for. It had been a rollercoaster trying to reconcile his past with Aaron’s and learn how to function as a part of a whole, but he’d be lost now without both of them. 

Plus there were the strays he’d collected over the years (or perhaps if he was honest, who had collected him). Renee had been first; she’d recognised herself in him and worn him down with a strange combination of serenity, creativity and sparring prowess. They’d met in the boxing ring and then she’d wormed her way deep into his jaded old heart over hot chocolates and a shared interest in sketching. He humored her as she prattled on about plants and her latest successes in propagation; she humoured him as he shared his dry and witty observations about people who should really fucking know better. 

Three years ago they bought Eden’s together and transformed the previously derelict building into a wildly successful cafe that launched the evolution of a hipster’s paradise in the middle of Palmetto. After their cafe opened, a bike shop, green grocer, artisan sourdough bakery and yoga studio were quick to follow. 

He had the yoga studio to thank for his housemate. Kevin had played college exy with Dan and Matt, the owners of the studio, and he’d broken up with his partner around the same time Andrew was looking for someone to help him pay the rent. They’d clicked despite their differences, bonding over a bottle of whiskey one night and coming out the other side firm friends. Andrew had supported Kevin through a whole lot of pent up trauma that had erupted post break up, and prompted him to quit drinking and seek professional help for his PTSD. Kevin’s sobriety had shifted their dynamic slightly and made him even more of a self righteous pain in Andrew’s ass, but by then Andrew had accepted the terms of his adoption and couldn’t come up with a reasonable excuse to kick Kevin out of the house. 

Renee and Kevin were as much his family as Aaron and Nicky now, and he’d bleed himself dry for all of them. He tolerated Dan and Matt, because for some reason Kevin adored them, and the addition of Allison at Renee’s side over the past six months had been unsurprising and overdue. It pained him to admit it, but he was fond of all of them really, even if he had a funny way of showing it. 

Betsy, though. She’d been a constant for almost half of his life now and he’d take any opportunity to take her for a spin. He put the keys in the ignition, felt the roar of the engine as it started up, loud and intimidating in the early morning light. He’d spent so many years doing whatever he could to avoid any feelings at all, then a great many more trying to feel something - _anything_. He’d mellowed somewhat over the years though and nowadays when he felt something, he owned it. And fuck he loved his car. 

Andrew was also quite partial to opening the coffee shop on his own. He always cranked the coffee machine first - because _priorities -_ and then threw on his favourite 90s grunge playlist. Nicky wouldn’t let him play anything other than generic hipster folk once the customers arrived so he took great pleasure in immersing himself in angst, adding it to his uniform like another layer of black on those early mornings. 

After that he pottered about setting out tables and chairs, lighting the heat lamps, and watering the plants out in the courtyard. He had Renee to thank for keeping them alive; she’d taught him the basics of feeding and propagation, knowing when to water and when to relocate, but it was Renee who’d come by every few days through lockdown and done the hard yards. She’d sworn that she showered them with as much positive verbal encouragement as she did water and plant food. When he’d rolled his eyes and huffed his disbelief at her she cited a study by the Royal Horticultural Society stating that plants grew faster when people spoke to them. He humored her in that regard too, but then he and Kevin had seen it proven on an episode of MythBusters a few months later and who was he to argue with that?

Despite it being proven on his second favourite tv show and despite the fact that he was all alone with only Eddie Vedder, circa 1991, and a courtyard full of plants for company, it took Andrew several attempts to open his mouth and speak out loud. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist at the best of times - most people were so full of bullshit and their own self-importance that he rarely bothered with strangers - but at least the foliage wouldn’t talk back. 

He finally squared his shoulders and turned towards a collection of hanging maidenhair ferns (they always seemed the least resilient to him, so frail and _needy_ ) to speak, when a shock of auburn hair across the road caught his attention and stopped him in his tracks. Andrew had fantasised about the pretty redheaded yoga student more times than he cared to admit. He’d been a regular at the cafe before lockdown, always by himself, always ordering an unsweetened long black (maybe he was sweet enough already?), always polite but never engaging beyond his basic coffee order. Neil. His name was Neil. Andrew had imagined saying it a thousand times. Neil had soft lips and cutting cheekbones and the scars littered across his cheeks and up towards one eye only enhanced his striking appearance. And those eyes… blue the colour of a winter sky, cold and sharp, framed with impossibly long lashes that cast shadows upon his cheeks when he blinked. In quiet, urgent moments, Andrew imagined those eyes looking up at him and wondered just what those lips were capable of. 

Last weekend Neil had returned to Eden's for the first time since they reopened. Andrew had been on a break when he ordered and watched with interest as he had sat down by the window not far from where Andrew was slouched, enjoying the glass-warmed rays of winter sun. He’d looked like a ginger cat; eyes closed, auburn hair glinting in the sun as he practically purred by the window. (Andrew imagined how it would feel to be responsible for that look on Neil’s face.) Maybe it was just yoga though. Kevin got that glazed look about him too after he’d done home yoga and been lying on the floor too long. He hated how all the local students were so spacey when they walked across and ordered their post-class almond milk chai lattes or ’shroom brews or whatever other hipster bullshit Nicky insisted they put on the menu especially for the Wellness Crowd. He hated how they all had that self righteous air of meditative bliss and how they floated around, practically stoned, perfectly coiffed in Lycra, with not a hair out of place. Mostly he hated how they always seemed so fucking happy, all of the time.

Neil though. Neil was different. He was less happy yogi, more mathematical problem. There was something about him that got under his skin, permeated his cells, infiltrated his brain. Something about the way he didn’t meld with the crowd, the way his blue eyes always clinically assessed the space as if looking for threats, that Andrew recognised and respected. Something about his scars that hinted at some semblance of common ground. Something that whispered _trauma_ and _survivor_. 

It’s not like they’d ever had a conversation though. Maybe it was just because Neil apparently refused to wear Lycra like everyone else. Or because when he sighed like a fucking kitten in the sunshine his lips quirked on one side showing what could very well be a dimple. It possibly had something to do with his ‘yoga glow’ - as Nicky had called it - shattering with one mouthful of burnt coffee last weekend. It was certainly not because Neil had _absolutely ruined_ Andrew with that one unguarded smile as Andrew had delivered him a replacement coffee a little while later. He had plonked the cup down then turned and fled before his mouth could betray him, blushing like a teenager as he returned to the counter. Later when he spotted Neil preparing to leave he’d further embarrassed himself by hiding under the counter and leaving Nicky to deal with him; a ridiculous split-second decision that resulted in hours of suggestive, supportive and utterly relentless drabble from Nicky and a suspiciously coincidental message from Renee asking if he had any news. 

And now his mathematical problem was running. In little shorts. In winter. Andrew was fairly certain that if ( _when_ ) he thought of him now it would have absolutely nothing to do with lean legs in short shorts, wild hair pushed back with a bright orange headband, very clearly odd socks or a faded grey Radiohead hoodie. Nothing to do with any of that at all. Yes Neil was different - _interesting_ \- and without realising it he was demanding Andrew’s attention. That alone should have been an issue on principle - Andrew hated anything that he couldn’t control and he wasn’t particularly enamoured with maths - but Neil was a puzzle he was very eager to solve. 

Thank fuck he hadn’t been talking to the plants just then. Maybe he’d try again tomorrow. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil took the opportunity to watch Andrew at the machine; it was quite hypnotic really, watching is hands flying around. He could see Andrew’s back and shoulders shift and flex under his tight black tee and the blur of color from his forearms was mesmerising.

It might be the beginning of winter but something about society beginning to open up, with people spilling on to the streets and the general air of possibility, reminded Neil of spring. Maybe it was just the act of teaching again, but the morning after his first class he’d woken with a clear mind and a positively primal urge to move. 

He’d run a lot when he was younger - literally and figuratively - and he used to be fast. It struck him as weird that something he’d had to do for survival had remained something he chose to do for fun. Well, had chosen: his increasing apathy over the past few months had all but swallowed any desires he had and he hadn’t run since the beginning of lockdown. Hadn’t done much of anything really. Hadn’t had the creative urges he’d heard others talk about. Hadn’t been driven mad by boredom. Hadn’t started a manuscript or ploughed through books or learnt an instrument. Hadn’t been driven to drink, and certainly hadn’t engaged when a few of his fellow yoga teachers invited him for Zoom “happy hours.” 

(Hadn’t even managed to get off the sofa most days, in fact, but at least as a general rule he had managed to get out of bed, so, that was a win. Small victories and all that.) 

Spring, though. Spring had always been his favourite season; even through those years on the run, when such frivolous affections were futile, the feel of it put verve in his step. Spring always left him feeling positively _inspired_ and over the last week he had been determined to make the most of his renewed motivation while it lasted. That first Sunday after the studio reopened he dusted off his running shoes, found a near-enough-to-matching pair of socks, some running shorts and an old stained hoodie, filled his bottle with water, and took the stairs two at a time. It’s not like he planned to see anyone he knew; it was way too early for most people in his neighbourhood to be out and about, and he relished the early morning silence. It was a rough five miles (how did five months of inactivity result in such a huge fitness deficit?) and he was long out of water, struggling hard as he’d rounded the bend towards home. 

Now, after a week of daily running, Neil had noticed a distinct improvement in both his cardiovascular fitness and his drive. Class prep this week had been a breeze and he was loving getting on the mat for his own practice. He was even finding basic human functions like cooking and cleaning to be less of a chore. He was carving out a bit of a daily routine and even though his outlook retained its generally grey hue, the sun came out more days than it didn’t, and that was something. 

Most surprising to Neil was how his daily routine now very much included running home past Eden’s. He’d spotted Andrew a few times as he ran by, watering the plants or setting out the tables and chairs, and though the pint-sized blond had never shown any indication of noticing him go by, it didn’t stop Neil from seeking him out all the same. This morning as he ran towards the cafe he slowed as he noticed his barista in the courtyard watering the plants and talking to someone. “Morning!” Neil called out, before he realised he was even going to open his mouth, waving as he ran by. Andrew startled and turned pink, then gave a two finger salute before he turned and walked back inside. 

Class that day was busier than the last and he’d been stoked when Allison, one of the other teachers at the studio, had come along to practice. Like him, she wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but she had great energy and for some reason she had taken a liking to Neil despite his aversion to most other humans (perhaps _because_ of it; she always seemed up for a challenge). They tidied together in comfortable silence before wandering over to Eden's. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you constantly avoiding my attempts to get you to socialize with us over the last few months little rabbit,” Allison chided, bumping her hip into his ribcage as they joined the queue. 

“I was busy,” Neil grinned as he regained his balance. “Besides, it’s not like I never answered your texts, I just hate being on video.” 

“Don’t I know it,” she rolled her eyes. “If I had a dollar for every time Matt or Dan moaned about your refusal to participate in online classes I’d be a rich woman.” 

Neil side-eyed Ally with a smirk. She cackled as she shrugged one shoulder and turned toward him. 

“Seriously though, a pretty face like yours _needs_ to be online. You know they’re continuing the online studio as well right? People love you! Your classes though…” she grimaced. “Lets just say I could teach you a thing or two about class structure; your flows are pretty clunky.”

“Fuck off!” Neil laughed. “You heard them all blissfully marvelling as they left today! My classes are awesome.”

“It’s your auburn curls and arctic blues that draw them in, babe, those and the bedroom voice you save for savasana. Your flows are but the tip of the iceberg.” She wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “Imagine how much they’d love to have you in their very own living rooms? Or maybe that guided meditation right before bed, hmmm? - Oh, hey Minyard, Nicky.”

Neil looked up as they stopped in front of the counter, past Nicky’s grinning face to Andrew’s stony expression. 

“Reynolds,” the blond replied, not looking up from the machine.

Neil looked to Ally, who was wearing a shit-eating grin. “I didn’t know you knew these guys,” he said, trying and failing to figure out why the air felt charged with - _something_ \- that hadn’t been present moments earlier. 

“How did you not know that?” Allison laughed as she spoke. “Everyone knows everyone here. Also, my girlfriend is Andrew’s business partner.”

“Your - his - oh? _Oh_. Right, sure,” he replied, sounding eloquent as shit, wondering how someone who a decade ago relied on superhuman powers of observation for his very survival could now be so ignorant to his surroundings. “Sorry, I wasn’t aware.”

Allison winked at him. “Neil honey, there’s a lot you aren’t aware of.”

Nicky rang up their usual orders, chatting away to Allison as he did, ignoring the growing queue behind them. Neil took the opportunity to watch Andrew at the machine; it was quite hypnotic really, the way his hands flew around, balancing jugs, cranking and packing grounds, arranging cups and pouring frothed milk. How he kept up with who ordered what, and which syrup went where, was beyond Neil. He could see Andrew’s back and shoulders shift and flex under his tight black tee and the blur of color from his forearms was mesmerising. 

“Staring,” Andrew said, his low voice only just audible over the sound of the machine. Ally’s hand on his elbow shook Neil out of his - whatever _that_ moment was - and he silently berated himself for getting distracted. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she opened her mouth to say something before apparently changing her mind, instead guiding him out to the courtyard and plonking herself down in a low armchair under a canopy of hanging plants. 

Allison chatted easily about the seniors yoga class she’d started, the latest of her favourite boutiques to reopen that she was determined to drag Neil along to for a long overdue wardrobe update ( _have you bought nothing in the last six months, Neil?_ ), and the gathering she and Renee were planning in a couple of weeks time (hence the wardrobe update requirements). 

He assumed Renee was the girlfriend she’d mentioned earlier. It occurred to Neil that he should probably already know this fact, but the truth was that not even Allison was exempt from Neil’s capacity to tune out when people were talking to him. His interest was snagged momentarily as he wondered if Renee would be inviting her _business partner_ along… why was he so interested in this guy? If he didn’t know himself better he’d suspect he had some kind of schoolboy crush, but it had been many years since Neil had been a schoolboy and there hadn’t been a single crush between then and now. No, it was more likely that Andrew was just different to most people around here, interesting in a way he couldn’t quite pin down. Was it the juxtaposition of his black wardrobe and cheerfully bright forearms? The fact that he always had a cigarette tucked behind his ear but he’d never seen him smoke? Was it the whole maybe-probably talking to plants thing? Or that he seemed just as content not talking as Neil did? Whatever it was, there was no doubt Neil found Andrew interesting.

“Earth to Neil -” he blinked slowly and refocused his eyes on Ally’s face. “- Are you listening to a single word I’ve said?”

“Um,” he paused, wondering how much he’d missed. “Something about a party?” 

Allison smirked and looked pointedly towards the counter. She opened her mouth to speak when suddenly Beyonce’s Halo erupted from her phone. “You just dodged a bullet, babe,” she grinned as she got up and moved towards the back of the courtyard to take the call. She turned a full three-sixty as she walked, pointing two fingers towards her eyes then in Neil’s direction as she spun. 

Neil had actually dodged real bullets in his youth, and if he’d been prone to being overly dramatic, he could concede that sometimes talking to Allison felt very familiar… but he had no flare for drama. He wore his pragmatism the same way he wore his emotional disconnect and his scars: somewhat uncomfortably, but with tired acceptance that a) it was a part of him that was never going to change, b) it had a weirdly discomfiting effect on some people and c) it had no doubt kept him safe and alive over the years. He watched her for a moment as she chatted away - animated at first and then softer, somehow - a private smile playing across her face, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Neil suddenly felt as though he was intruding on something intimate and turned sharply towards the front of the shop, grounding himself in the habitual comfort of having his back to the wall while he scouted exits and assessed for possible threat. 

Allison swept by a few minutes later, stopping only to deliver a quick kiss on Neil’s head and a flimsy “something’s come up.” She swung by Nicky as he rounded the counter with their drinks and took her coffee to go. Neil watched as he grinned over his shoulder towards Andrew, who narrowed his eyes and muttered something in return. Nicky shrugged then turned dramatically on his heel, spilling Neil’s drink in the process. He laughed with delight as he binned the remainder of the drink, wiped the floor and took the dirty cloth out back towards the kitchen, leaving Andrew alone, scowling at the machine. Andrew dropped his chin to his chest briefly, as if resigning himself to something, then straightened and rolled his shoulders. Neil was rapt, the heady anticipation of watching his barista work sweeping over him without warning, followed by the rush of confusion and anxiety as he scrambled to process his behaviour.

Neil dragged his eyes away, listening instead to the familiar sounds of the machine and its master, tampering his rising uncertainty by tuning inward and practicing a mindfulness moment instead. He consciously slowed his breath. Inhaled; exhaled. Slipped off his shoes and placed both feet on the floor, grounding himself to the earth. Eyes closed, his senses were heightened. He could feel the softness of a well loved cushion behind his back and the scratch of a rogue piece of cane from the chair behind his left calf. He smelled the overarching scent of coffee, of course, but also spice, sugar and something more earthy that he attributed to the plants. His attention floated through the soft folky music, captured snippets of conversation here, the flush of a toilet there, the sound of a car driving past outside... and then he trained his hearing towards the counter. He could track each step of the brewing process. Heard the double tap of the portafilter being emptied of spent grounds. The whir of the grinder processing more beans. The triple click of the ground coffee being released into the filter, and the light knock of the tamper being returned to the bench. The scrape and click as the filter was returned to the machine, the shuffle of mismatched coffee cups as one was selected and then the rapid dribble of brewed coffee pouring into the cup. Again he breathed in, breathed out, long and slow. Neil imagined the way the hot cup would soon warm his palms and the taste of crema followed by the chase of espresso. He smiled to himself. Opened his eyes. 

Andrew was standing in front of him. 

“I didn’t know you were a yoga _teacher_ ,” Andrew said, withholding Neil’s drink with an accusatory stare. 

“Um, hi?” Neil replied, trying to shake the heat he could feel creeping up his neck and onto his face.

“I thought you were a yoga _student_.”

Neil paused for a moment, unsure why this was his fault or why it mattered or what he was supposed to say in return. “I’m sorry?” he hedged, squinting one eye closed then dropping his gaze down Andrew’s arms to his drink. “Do I still get my coffee?”

Neil saw Andrew’s face flush as he placed the drink on the table. “You didn’t teach any of the online classes during lockdown.”

“Oh! Do you practice?” he asked as he shifted in his seat, bending one knee up and turning sideways to face Andrew. “You should come to my class next week.” He hesitated, sensing a minute shift in the other man’s body language. “If you want to, and aren’t working of course.”

Andrew huffed quietly and rolled his eyes, then looked over Neil’s shoulder and moved to busy himself, gently removing a couple of yellowing leaves from a low hanging pot. Neil wondered if that was the end of the conversation - did four sentences count as a conversation? - and cleared his throat. “Anyway, thanks for the coffee,” he said, turning back to the table and trying not to sound awkward. Andrew was clearly still tense, though Neil supposed he didn’t look much different to normal, really. But there was a subtle narrowing of his eyes and hitch to his shoulders that hadn’t been there a moment ago. If he was uncomfortable though, why was he still standing there? Surely plant maintenance could wait until after Neil had left. Perhaps he was imagining the shift after all. 

Neil turned again and opened his mouth to speak at the same time that Andrew looked down and started to say something, and they both stalled out awkwardly. “You go,’ Neil conceded as Andrew put his hands in his apron pocket, forearms on colorful display in front of him. He felt Andrew’s gaze bore into his head, drawing his own eyes up as if by some kind of magnetic pull. 

“You first,” Andrew countered.

“I like your flowers,” Neil blurted. He felt his eyes widen and his mouth go dry. This was the second time today Neil’s mouth had run ahead of his brain and he had no idea how to fix the connection. 

Andrew raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “I like your face,” he said, “but that’s not what I was going to say.”

It was Neil’s turn to flush in earnest now; he wasn’t used to this kind of conversation and whilst his immediate instinct was to feel self-conscious about his scars, he sensed Andrew was being genuine. “Me neither,” he admitted. “I was going to apologise for pimping my yoga class out to you.”

“I was going to say I have never been tempted to step foot on a fucking yoga mat in my life, but my housemate did online classes most days when everything was shut down.” Andrew paused, as if questioning whether to go on. Neil had nowhere to be and despite the unexpected turn of conversation, he felt surprisingly at ease. “I would remember if he’d done one of your classes,” he added eventually. 

Neil wasn’t sure how to respond to that; he wondered if Andrew monitored all of his housemate’s online activity and how on earth anyone could simply watch a yoga class without any desire to participate themselves. Regardless, Andrew hadn’t asked a question or offered any further explanation so Neil didn’t say anything in return. After a moment, Andrew shrugged and walked away. 

Neil watched him go. Nicky had returned to the counter at some point in their conversation and now grinned as Andrew pushed him away from the machine and took over the orders. Nicky caught Neil’s eye before he could look away and winked at him. Neil rolled his eyes and sunk lower into his seat, savouring his coffee and mulling over everything that had just happened. 

He was not accustomed to feeling things, not really, and this time during quarantine had further suppressed his emotions. He was certainly not accustomed to having _feelings_ for other people, but the more he thought about Andrew the more he realised he thought _a lot_ about him. He could recognize - objectively - the signs of attraction and was pretty sure that as much as he had tried earlier to deny it to himself, attraction was exactly what he felt. 

Interesting.

He swung by the counter on his way out the door, placing his cup on the bench top as he passed. Nicky was bussing tables and Andrew didn’t look up. He wanted to ask about the party, but didn’t know what he would say, or what he hoped to hear in return. He walked away before his mouth could betray him a third time in one day, only looking back when he turned to close the door behind him. Andrew was watching him go. Neil felt a wave of something charged and brought two fingers to his temple, mimicking Andrew’s gesture from earlier that morning. Andrew smirked in return, a twinkle in his eye that had not been present moments before. 

Neil grinned, pulled the door closed and headed down the street for home. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wanna talk about why you were perched like a homeless person outside my back door this morning?” Andrew asked, voice neutral.
> 
> “Nightmares,” Neil answered without pause, and Andrew sensed rather than saw the tension return to Neil’s body. Keeping his gaze on the machine in front of him, Andrew nodded minutely, shed his own skin and said “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I did a @djhedy and added a chapter...
> 
> Thanks again and always to my betafish @justadreamfox, I'm eternally grateful for your fashion advice.

Everyday that week Andrew opened the shop. Everyday he made sure he was outside when Neil ran by. Everyday Neil waved and called out a cheery good morning. 

Everyday that is, until Friday morning, when Andrew pulled into the parking lot at Eden’s, cut the engine and saw Neil sitting on a milkcrate by the back service door, knees pulled to his chest. He was huddled in the corner, sheltered from the wind, with a thick jacket wrapped around him. 

Andrew hardly recognised his face: it was so blank, so void of emotion. 

Andrew immediately recognised his face: it was the blank, emotionless void he’d seen reflected in the mirror a thousand times before. 

The dull blue glow of the overhead light cast shadows across Neil and blurred his edges, but did nothing to hide the shape of him. Andrew knew the shape of broken. He also knew the shape of death; he’d seen first hand the subtle differences in energy between an alive face and a not-alive one, the way the _aliveness_ shifted and buzzed beneath a person’s skin. Blue shadows made Neil look decidedly _not_ alive. 

And then Neil shifted, as if suddenly registering that he was no longer alone, and just like that his face held life again. His features re-energised and rearranged themselves and his limbs tensed and then forcibly relaxed as Andrew felt the weight of Neil’s gaze shift from high alert to borderline sheepish, a half smile attempting to claim real estate on his face. 

“Nice ride,” he said, drawing himself up off the milk crate and walking towards Andrew. Maybe Neil was used to pretending everything was fine, was accustomed to people buying into that facade, but Andrew had honed his ability to read people decades ago. He wasn’t buying shit. Besides, the _Essence of Neil_ had been somewhere else entirely when the Maserati pulled up and Blind Freddy couldn’t have missed that energetic shift when Neil came back to himself. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” 

Andrew raised an eyebrow that very clearly said _I’m not buying shit_ , but humoured the redhead all the same. “Neil, meet Betsy,” he said, waving an arm between Neil and the car. “Betsy, meet Neil. It’s freezing out here - you coming inside?”

Neil shifted out of the way as Andrew lifted the roller door and unlocked the shop’s security bolts. “You sure that’s okay?” he asked, leaning against the alcove, running one hand through his birds-nest hair, looking equal parts hopeful and like he was still trying to pull himself together. “You don’t even know me.”

 _I_ _wish I knew you._

“You don’t scare me,” Andrew declared, pleased with how his early morning rasp added to the gruff indifference he hoped he was projecting. Turns out gruff indifference is easy when you actually don’t care about what’s going on around you. When you’re somewhat invested in an outcome - say, when a gorgeous and interesting man snaps out of some kind of traumatic dissociation and wants to follow you into your space - curiosity reigns over nonchalance. 

He gestured Neil in and locked the door behind them. Flicked on a couple lights and headed straight over to the coffee machine - because _priorities_ \- and not because Neil’s normally blue eyes were reflecting grey from the dark circles that lurked beneath them, amplifying the dark threads of tension that remained etched on Neil’s face, screaming _rough night_ so loudly that Andrew longed to reach out and smooth the frays. 

_Let me know you._

Andrew watched Neil’s eyes roam around the shop, cataloguing the exits, back still against a wall near the service door. He opened Spotify on his phone and turned on his usual grungy playlist and looked up to see Neil’s bodily inhale and exhale as the opening stanza of _Black Hole Sun_ poured out of the speakers. Saw the flare of nostrils and minute twitch in his shoulders as Neil shed a little more tension and then stepped fully into the space, pulling a stool off a table and setting it down by the counter, and then - incredibly - he rested his head on crossed arms, and allowed his eyes to flutter closed.

Andrew had no idea what checklist Neil had ticked off in those short moments but he recognized _safe_ the way he recognized _fear_ and he knew that Neil was surrendering to the comfort of the former. He just didn’t understand why. 

This was not what he had expected when he got out of bed this morning. 

He should probably stop staring. 

Working his way down Minyard’s Hierarchy, Andrew next pottered about pulling the cords on the ancient wall-mounted electric strip heaters, turning them on. He and Renee had considered upgrading them when they set up Eden’s, but they were warm and they worked with the aesthetic (even if they weren’t particularly energy efficient). Besides, there was something satisfying about the pull of the cord, the click of the mechanism, the immediacy of the heat from the bright filaments. He turned, fully intending to continue with his set up, but his gaze snagged on Neil - _Neil_ , in his shop, at asscrack o’clock, head rested on the counter - and Andrew’s feet rooted to the ground where he stood. It felt… intimate. _Fuck it_ , he thought, taking the opportunity to watch the other man a little longer. 

Neil was beautiful. His hair was a fiery mess, auburn strands sticking up and out, waves made brighter by the glow of the strip heater above the counter. His head was turned, cheek resting across his arms, face turned toward the middle of the room where Andrew was setting up. Freckles covered his face, popping out of the shadows of Neil’s scars as if begging for attention, each demanding to be seen in their own right and not just as the random stars behind the man-made constellation of lines that crossed his skin. His breath had slowed and evened out, shoulders rising and falling under the thick fabric of his jacket, face now utterly relaxed.

Andrew itched for his notebook and pencils. 

“Staring,” Neil muttered into the thick sleeve of his jacket, eyes still closed, long eyelashes resting on the delicate skin beneath. Andrew caught a glimpse of that maybe-dimple as Neil’s mouth quirked on the visible side.

“I told you I like your face,” Andrew retorted, emboldened by the early hours, their privacy, Neil’s unguarded form and the return volley of his own line. He wanted to know what he’d done to deserve Neil’s trust this morning, and what happened in the first place to bring him here. 

He turned back to his tasks, gathered all the nonchalance he could muster and began grinding beans. He tampered the prepared grounds, allowed muscle memory to take over as he brewed, hoping to hell he was projecting an air of cool indifference, biding his time to address the elephant in the room, all the while thinking:

_I wish I knew you._

Andrew saw Neil shift in his peripheral vision, arms still crossed on the counter, but with his chin now resting on his hands. Feeling the weight of Neil’s gaze he kept his own eyes trained forward. “Wanna talk about why you were perched like a homeless person outside my back door this morning?” Andrew asked, voice neutral.

“Nightmares,” Neil answered without pause, and Andrew sensed rather than saw the tension return to Neil’s body.

Keeping his gaze on the machine in front of him, Andrew nodded minutely, shed his own skin and said “Me too.”

He chanced a look over then, gaze meeting Neil’s for one count, two. Felt understanding pass between them. Watched as Neil sat up, dragged a hand through his hair, felt his fingers itch to reach out and tuck the strays behind Neil’s ears, knowing full well it was a pointless endeavour with that ridiculous mop, but desperate to do it all the same. 

What was it about this guy? Andrew was acutely aware that with only a handful of tiny interactions Neil had gone from being a gorgeous fantasy to… well, _something..._ He thanked therapy for the fact that he was in a position these days to entertain possibilities and to recognise the flutter of hope, but he was also realistic enough to acknowledge that the man before him was little more than a stranger. 

_Let me know you._

He drew his attention back to the coffees and passed a long black with perfect crema to Neil, added cream to his own cup, then leaned up against the counter and said to Neil “Tell me about yoga.”

Neil - mid first sip, eyes closed in bliss ( _I did that, Andrew thought)_ \- put his coffee down, long slender fingers wrapped around the ceramic for warmth. “Do you ever -” he paused, tapped his fingers on the cup thoughtfully and started again. “I was a runner.” 

“You _were_ a runner.”

“I _am_ a runner. I was a _runner_. My father was… well, my mom and I left when I was ten and we moved around a lot.” Andrew felt the weight of Neil’s gaze, swam in the depth of blue, watched the flicker of irises as Neil’s eyes darted briefly like tiny fish between Andrew’s own hazel. “After my parents… died, I kept running. I didn’t need to anymore, but I’d done it for eight years and I didn’t know how else to live. Growing up, paranoia - moving - kept me alive and even though I had everything I needed to settle down and start a life I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to really connect with other people or stay anywhere for more than a few weeks at a time. So I didn’t. I just kept going. For ten years I travelled all over the country, living out of a duffel bag. I was torn between finally being able to settle somewhere, to build a life, and a bone-deep fear that if i stood still long enough I would be found. I was perpetually looking over my shoulder.

“I’m a pretty grumpy fucker,” Neil continued with a smirk, “but I was way worse then. I was cold and distant, I’d only ever known people as threats, and anonymity was essential for my survival. Plus I was always balanced on the knife edge of a panic attack and so could be skittish as hell at the drop of a hat. But for some reason people were drawn to me? And I’d meet people at a hostel or wherever, and they’d take me under their wing for a few days, or hook me up couch surfing - I mean I slept in bus shelters, on trains, wherever too - but I wanted to be a real human, I just didn’t know how. So I just kind of floated around.”

He paused to take another sip of his coffee, lips pursed around the lip of the cup, breath slightly more rapid than it had been before. God, he was a picture. Andrew had no idea where this was going but he felt like he was being given a gift and he wasn’t going to interrupt. Even if he was desperate to interrupt. Even if he could feel himself melting inside, ice turning to water by the sound of Neil’s voice, accented by everywhere and nowhere, soft but clear, rubbed husky around the edges, Reynold’s voice popping into his head again as he put context to her (perhaps not so) throwaway comment about guided meditations before bed. He would not interrupt. Even if he wanted to trace the constellations and the stars that lay across Neil’s beautiful face. _Fuck._ He kept his own face neutral, his gaze solid. He could go down that rabbit hole later. Nodded an offer for Neil to go on. 

“Eventually I ended up at this yoga festival thing. I’d never done anything like it before and if you’d asked I’d have said I’d ‘never been tempted to step foot on a fucking yoga mat in my life’,” he smirked and Andrew’s own lips betrayed him, lifting slightly at the corners, “but I needed to get out of California and a bunch of people I’d met were heading to Arizona in their van by way of Joshua Tree. I just went with them. Yoga was - _is_ \- the only thing that has ever helped me to just _stop_ , you know? It sounds ridiculous, but it grounds me and helps me to see that I don’t need to run. I mean, it didn’t change things overnight of course. But those few days unlocked something for me and I learned that yoga gave me space. It shut my brain off to everything that had been and everything that was coming. I realised that right now, _this moment_ \- this one. This one - it’s all we have. And right now, this second, if i’m not thinking about the past or worrying about the future, things are okay.” 

He’d been studying his coffee since California ( _interesting_ ) and looked back up to Andrew now, face breaking suddenly into a deliciously self-depreciating smile - and oh, there was that dimple - Andrew was pretty well fucked. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for my life story all wrapped up in a philosophical bow.” 

“I just wanted to know what I should wear if I ever went to a yoga class,” Andrew deadpanned in return, then seeing Neil’s look of horror, back-pedalled with a wink. “Actually,” he said, throwing caution to the wind and wondering who the hell he even was, “I would like to hear more.” 

Neil’s returning smile was sunshine on a stick. 

“I do, however, have a cafe to open in an hour and quite a bit of prep work left to do.”

“Fuck, of course, sorry,” Neil replied, getting to his feet and returning the stool to the table where he’d found it. “Lemme do the courtyard - heat lamps, water the plants, anything else? It’s the least I can do.” 

So Neil had noticed Andrew as much as Andrew had noticed Neil then. _Huh._ This was also not what he had expected when he got out of bed this morning. 

The two worked in companionable silence, allowing _Hunger Strike, Glycerine_ and _Drive_ to float around them as they went. Neil caught Andrew’s pointed look when _Runaway Train_ started up, shrugged one shoulder and grinned in response. When he started to sing along to _Black_ though, Andrew thought he might die. Neil was still pottering about in the courtyard, setting out the sugar caddies and table numbers, straightening tables and laying blankets over the backs of chairs. Andrew couldn’t keep his eyes off him. It wasn’t that Neil was an especially gifted singer, it was the way the song flowed over him and through him, down to his bones. It was Neil, stilling for a moment and closing his eyes as the opening notes wafted out of the speakers. It was his head, moving to the beat through the whole first stanza. It was long fingers tapping drum beats against toned thighs. It was his soft humming that snuck out to start, then the mouthed words of the first chorus. It was the unbridled freedom with which he sang the last lines of the song: 

_I know someday you'll have a beautiful life_

_I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky, but why_

_Why, why can't it be, oh can't it be mine?_  
  
This was definitely not what he had expected when he got out of bed this morning. 

After he’d finished in the courtyard, Neil unloaded the pastries into the display cabinet while Andrew prepped the breakfast paninis and wraps. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Neil’s offer to help, and Andrew could tell that Neil still bore the weight of last night’s trauma. Still, it was the most comfortable Andrew had felt in another person’s company in… well, ever probably. He felt like that should probably be deeply unsettling but Andrew trusted his intuition and to be honest he was still marvelling over the fact that Neil was here at all. 

Andrew snuck looks at Neil as he unpacked the croissants and other pastries from the local bakery. His heavy jacket was long gone and the navy cotton Henley that Neil wore looked soft and sleep-worn, and oh-so-sexy. Andrew was a sucker for Henleys and despite public opinion and personal history he was also a sucker for soft and sleep-worn - or at least he was pretty sure he would be if Neil was involved. He was definitely a sucker for oh-so-sexy, and the oh-so-sexy long-sleeves-pushed-up Henley-wearing man that was currently unpacking bakery goods in front of him… reaching and twisting and squatting and bending… was doing all manner of things to Andrew. _Fuck._ Every time he reached into the cabinet, his shirt rode up at the back revealing the waistband of his low slung sweatpants, Dimples of Apollo nestled amongst fine copper hairs that glinted only in the light of the heater. _Fuckety Fuck._

“Right,” Neil said, wiping his hands on a tea towel as he carried the last bread crate out the back. He looked suddenly self conscious, “I guess I should leave you to it. Thanks again for the coffee and…” he waved vaguely in the direction of the seating. 

Andrew nodded and offered a small smile. “Thank _you_ for-” he waved vaguely in the same direction. 

Neil pulled on his coat, turned and walked towards the door. “Wait, Neil,” Andrew blurted, suddenly desperate for the other man to stay a little longer, gratified when Neil paused with an exhale and answering smile that suggested maybe - _maybe_ \- he was hoping for just that. “Let me make you another coffee before you go.” 

Neil waved him off. “I need to go for a run. Shake off the last of these cobwebs. I’ll swing by tomorrow morning and you can make me one then. I’ll try not to chew your ear off in return.” 

He unlocked the front door and flicked the sign to open, arctic blue eyes locking on Andrew’s for a moment longer than necessary before turning and walking down the street. 

***

When the Maserati pulled into the lot at Eden’s on Saturday morning, half an hour earlier than he usually would, Andrew’s first thought was to look for Neil, haunted and broken under the blue lights of the service door. Relief poured off Andrew’s shoulders like water - if he never saw that version of Neil again it would be too soon. Right on the tail of relief came unexpected disappointment and Andrew felt whiplashed by his own swinging mood. He didn’t want Neil to have to go through _that_ just to have him rock up on his doorstep, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping the blue-eyed pipe dream would be sitting waiting for him all the same. 

He turned to lock the back door behind him and heard the pad of feet running across the parking lot. Peering around the door he saw Neil, bare legged in orange running shorts and the same old Radiohead hoodie he’d been wearing the first time Andrew had seen him running, sleeves pushed up showing off those damn forearms again. Cheeks flushed, hair mussed, he was grinning as he slowed to a stop in front of Andrew, proffering a paper bag into Andrew’s arms, which he'd somehow, without conscious thought, opened to accept the goods. 

Lights on, coffee machine on, priorities sorted, Andrew opened Spotify on his phone and passed it to Neil, raising one eyebrow in challenge, then moved away to start turning on the bar heaters. He could see goosebumps on Neil’s toned legs now that he was cooling down from his run. He looked like a different person today. Relaxed shoulders, open face, the tiny crease between his brows the only indicator of tension now, though given the way Neil scrolled, typed, frowned, typed, scrolled, Andrew suspected that had more to do with how seriously he was taking his current role of Chief Music Selector. He wanted so badly to reach out and smooth that space between Neil’s brows, feel the scratch of stubble over his jaw.

“You like Radiohead?” Andrew asked as he rounded the counter again, for want of something - anything - to say that didn’t involve propositioning Neil then and there. 

Neil had made himself comfortable on a bar stool again, turning parallel to the counter so that one elbow was leaning on the surface. “Hmm?” he asked, looking up from the phone. “Oh yeah, I used to. I mean they’re great. But these days I think I like them best because their _Creep_ gave us PMJ’s _Creep_ , which is all kinds of incredible.”

“PMJ?”

“Postmodern Jukebox - you don’t know them? Okay hold on, I’ll play it first but gimme a second. I’m trying to concentrate. You can open that if you like - hope it’s not too early for you to eat?” he asked, gesturing to the paper bag that was now sitting on the counter. 

“Just pick something, Neil, it doesn’t matter.”

“On the contrary,” Neil’s smile was insecurity wrapped in arrogance, “I feel like it does. Okay, PMJ.” 

As Andrew pulled a loaf of sourdough from the package, followed by an ultra-soft triple cream brie, the opening lines of _Creep_ poured like lava out of the speakers. It _was_ incredible. He put the loaf and cheese on a board and passed them over to Neil while he made coffees. Neil cut a few slices and topped them with brie, muscular forearms shifting all the while, scars and freckles dancing in the light. As the sultry song floated around them, Andrew wondered if he’d ever seen anything sexier in his life. And then Neil licked a rogue smear of soft cheese off his finger and Andrew just. He _just_. 

Lana Del Rey’s _Born to Die_ came over the speaker then as Neil pushed the board toward Andrew and thank fuck, because he would never hear Creep the same way again and he would never forget the sight of the beautiful disaster in front of him and he nodded approval at Neil’s music choice and then inspected the sourdough with concentrated intensity because he needed a distraction. 

“Is this a Foxhole sourdough?” Andrew asked, tastebuds dancing around olive, brie and an undertone of something sweet.

Neil nodded, swallowed and then took a sip of his drink and Andrew thought he would never get sick of the look of bliss that crossed Neil’s face whenever he took that first mouthful of coffee. He imagined all the other ways he could induce that reaction.

“The bakery doesn’t open for half an hour.” 

Neil winked at him - _winked_ \- and Andrew nearly choked on his bread.

“They don’t make an olive sourdough.”

“Olive and pumpkin. And they do now. I have friends in high places.”

“They haven’t even delivered _my_ bread yet.”

“Friends, Andrew. High places.” 

Andrew was stunned for the briefest moment; had Neil ever said his name to his face before? It was more intimate than he’d expected and he took a nanosecond to file it away for safekeeping (who was he kidding, this whole morning was the stuff of fantasies). “Why do you look so surprised? I’m a likeable guy.” 

Andrew was pretty sure that his face hadn’t changed at all in that moment, and yet here was Neil, noticing things that most people never saw. Drawn into his orbit. Bringing him breakfast. Sweet and salty and creamy and simple. Seeking refuge in his space. Seeing _something_ in Andrew that allowed him to let down his barriers. Ridiculous hair, god-awful blue eyes, trauma etched onto his face and survival buzzing under his skin.

“Yes, Neil. You are.” Neil’s ears turned pink as he busied himself with another mouthful of bread. All of a sudden Andrew needed to balance the books. Needed Neil to know more about him. Needed to know if Neil could handle the shape of the truth of him the way he had trusted Andrew with the outline of his truth. His hand reached up and ghosted across the cigarette behind his ear and then before he could chicken out he blurted “I have scars too.”

Neil looked to Andrew now and didn’t break his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me about them, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t do anything that I don’t want to do.”

“Let’s do truth-for-a-truth then. You can tell me about your scars and then ask me a question.” 

“I owe you a truth for yesterday.”

Neil shook his head, “Yesterday doesn’t count. I had no right to seek refuge here and you had no reason to provide it. I’m glad I did but you don’t owe me anything.”

“I want to tell you.”

Neil nodded then, accepting, expression open but not demanding. “Okay.” 

“I grew up in foster homes; none of them were good. The only way I could survive them was by taking it out on my own skin.”

“Your arms,” Neil guessed, never dropping his eyes from Andrew’s gaze. 

“My arms.” Andrew paused, thought about elaborating, didn’t feel like it. Neil nodded, unperturbed.

“Okay,” he said, moving away from the counter to start pulling chairs off tables, giving Andrew a much needed moment to take stock. 

Andrew finished his drink, cleared the sourdough and brie and was surprised to find that once the initial shock of vulnerability passed, he had no lingering discomfort. He walked out to the courtyard to water the plants, beckoning Neil to follow with a tilt of his head. “Why didn’t you teach online during lockdown?”

Neil busied himself lighting heat lamps, laying out caddies and straightening tables as he talked. “I only started teaching at the beginning of the year. I’d taught - maybe half a dozen classes? - before lockdown and I didn’t really feel confident standing in front of a camera and teaching to the void. Plus,” he waved vaguely at his face, “I’ve run too long to feel comfortable having my face immortalised on the interwebs. I hardly practiced at all, actually, I was pretty depressed. My cat hates me, my plants barely survived. Most days I couldn’t get off the couch.”

“You said yoga gave you space, made you realise everything was alright really.”

“It does. I knew I needed to practice. I just couldn’t do it. Every night I went to bed and thought _tomorrow. Tomorrow I will get on the mat,_ and every day I avoided it like the plague. It’s funny, isn’t it? The things we do to avoid doing what we actually really want to do? And then when we finally do it we think why, why do I put this off? That’s what it was like when the studio opened back up and I had an obligation to practice. I felt like I’d been revived.”

They moved back inside, behind the counter, Andrew prepping and Neil unpacking the pastries that had been delivered to the back door. They worked in silence for a bit and then Neil asked “Why do you always have a cigarette behind your ear, but you never smell like smoke?”

Andrew removed the stick from behind his ear and tapped it twice on the counter before putting it back. Watched Neil’s eyes follow the rainbow of color on his forearm with apparent appreciation before he realised Andrew had busted him and his eyes darted back to the task at hand. “I don’t smoke anymore. I keep it there to remind myself that I could have it any time I want, but I choose not to. Plus,” he added with a smirk, after Neil loaded the last of the sweets into the cabinet and turned back to wipe his hands, “it adds to my aesthetic.”

Neil laughed then, mouth open, eyes sparkling, head back, throat bared. It was fucking glorious. He threw the tea towel at Andrew and headed for the door. “You’re not as tough as you like to think you are, Andrew Minyard. See you later.”

**

**Andrew: Nicky I have plans tomorrow morning, you’ll need to open the shop.**

**Author's Note:**

> Dawning on Me is a cracking song by Villagers and you should definitely listen to it.


End file.
